Reminiscence
by lark lavroc
Summary: It was a routine of sorts. [SeiichiTomoki]


**Disclaimer:** Don't own, didn't create, not getting any profit. For fun, as always.

**Author's Notes**: For the anniversary challenge, in which I chose a much a topic/character with more angst. ;)

Many thanks goes to dewchan for the excellent beta and comments.

_Completed: 12/02/2005_

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**Reminiscence**

Seiichi went home and showered once he was finished with his clients, as he always did. He would come in, a mixed scent of perfume and cologne clinging onto his clothes like unnoticed stains that were ignored out of habit, and take off his suit jacket. A navy blue one this time, because one of his clients ― a husky voice, green eyed blonde ― favoured that colour. Then, he would neatly strip off his white shirt and dark dress pants, tossing them in the bathroom's laundry basket. He turned on his shower, waiting for the steam to flush his skin pink before he entered and closed his eyes, letting the hot water stream down his face and cleanse his body.

His mind was blank, a surprise he was grateful for, because this was a routine that shouldn't be changed. He turned up the temperature, twisting the knob quickly so that the heat burned his skin and tainted it red, just tolerable enough for Seiichi to soap and shampoo and wash off the stickiness, the uncomfortable itch of dried sweat. Then he turned off the water and stepped out, soft towels drying hair and body before he dressed again, in casual clothes fraught with not so casual memories. A dark brown sweater, still new despite being frequently worn and jeans, pale from being washed so many times.

Seiichi brushed a hand over them, and wished for things impossible.

He dressed slowly but efficiently, promising himself more time to dwell on his thoughts later and went to pick up his wallet and keys. When he closed the door, he paused a moment to sigh softly, a puff of breath released. He shrugged it off with annoyance, a small frown that marred his congenial expression. This wasn't how it went, and this wasn't supposed to start yet ― this was a routine. His routine. He exhaled shakily and blanked his mind again. _Not yet_, he thought. _Not yet_.

The cosy bar he usually went to wasn't far from his apartment; he had always made sure of it back then, back when distance had been a big factor in everything he did and a few blocks might have been a marathon across a desert, and he still hadn't lost the habit. He still gauged distances with a critical eye that accounted for someone other than himself, and he still expected warm laughter and gentle eyes and sweet, sticky kisses.

It was a hard habit to break, and Seiichi idly thought he wouldn't want to anyway. He walked through a smatter of people chatting and smiling and drinking ― surrounding him with their happy noises, like a dull background buzz ― and sat on a stool at the bar, head bowed slightly. A drink, the usual, was thrust in front of him and he looked up at Touma, tried on a smile but it didn't fit right, not on this occasion, so he gave a small nod instead. He received a rueful, sympathetic smile in return, and then Seiichi turned to his drink, the white tinge of the wine glass reflecting the dim lights. He paused to trail a finger around the rim before he took a sip and closed his eyes in a brief respite. It didn't take long before he finally allowed the images and memories that had been kept locked from dawn onwards to enter his mind in a sudden onslaught.

Kisses. Laughter.

Tomoki's bright smile that had never dimmed even though it became more frayed, more frail.

Soft lips. Warm blankets, a picnic in the middle of their lounge. Sweet kisses, half parts sugar from pastries and half parts pure Tomoki.

Smooth, flushed skin. Wet hair, shy blushes, beautiful eyes. Whispered words.

_I don't want to leave._

_You won't be gone, I'll remember everything and you won't ever be gone._

Gentle breaths. Heartbeats, the sound of slowing drums.

Still body, peaceful face.

Seiichi took another sip, and remembered. He knew that the white roses he had ordered would have been delivered to Tomoki's house. Their house, even though it had been unlived in for a year and ― he glanced at his watch ― two minutes, because Seiichi couldn't bear to relinquish it and because he wanted to keep his routine. Tomoki had loved roses. Any colour, every colour, and Seiichi had loved to indulge.

He cupped his hands around the wine glass, a wistful smile on his lips, and remembered.


End file.
